


Duty

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: due South
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to "Romeo is Bleeding." Duty or friendship, Fraser cannot not try to help Ray as he grieves Irene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duty

Published in _Ouch! 12 (2001)_

 

Funerals in Chicago usually weren’t too pretty. Between the smog and the cold, the wind and the rain, standing by a graveside to bid a loved one farewell made an already difficult time all the more desolate. 

Ray Vecchio couldn’t have borne that, he knew. Watching from one of the nearby smoothly rolling hills of the cemetery was already painful enough, but at least from a distance be could pretend the scene had nothing to do with him. That they weren’t burying the woman he loved. That it wasn’t killing him to watch. 

But that wasn’t the only reason Vecchio stood apart, alone. 

The priest finished his prayers and stepped back, allowing the mourners to move up to pay their last respects. Ray knew most of the faces, many of them from his childhood days, even some members of his own family. But following the stream of close friends and family was a familiar figure in red serge and a stetson, who also stepped up to add a single red rose to the pile on the coffin. 

Ray shuddered, leaning a little more heavily against the crypt by which he stood, feeling like he was the last person on earth. Completely, crushingly alone. 

The Stetson tilted back, revealing the face underneath, and eyes that found him instantly, pinning him even across the open expanse between them. Ray stopped breathing for a moment, frozen in that look. And then, gaze never wavering, the owner of those eyes started towards him. 

But Benton Fraser was the other thing he’d wanted--needed--to avoid, and with a groan, Ray shoved away from the crypt, turning his back on the Mountie.

And fled. 

*****

It had taken Benny in his life to make Ray realize he’d never had a real, close friend before. There had been boyhood pals, of course, some of them good ones. Plus fellow cops, the occasional temporary partner, guys to hang out and have a few beers with. Yet, somehow, despite the similar tastes and backgrounds they shared with Ray, none of them had ever gotten to mean half as much to him as this one bizarre, straight-laced Mountie. And out of that friendship, Ray found himself beginning to change, finding a goodness, a willingness to go out on a limb, a compassion in himself he’d thought long lost. By the time he'd taken a bullet for Fraser, Ray had realized he had no regrets about offering his life for the Canadian. And he knew Benny felt the same way. 

Or at least he’d thought he’d known. 

The city was living up to its nickname; the cutting edge of the wind sliced through his thin jacket, and Ray absently pulled it closer around himself. He must have forgotten his coat. Or maybe left it...somewhere? He couldn’t remember. Didn’t matter. He was cold far inside already, and no layers of clothing on the outside would affect that. Ray hurried aimlessly on through the graying light, his car still back at the cemetery, abandoned just like he was. Like the two people who meant most to him had left him. And Ray was just too tired to deal with the loss now. 

_Irene…_ He indulged in a moment of thought of her and it made him stumble, his eyes clouding over with grief. What they’d shared had been brief, but it felt like they’d spent their whole lives preparing to be together. And then she’d died blaming him for his part in her death. But he _was_ responsible, just like Frankie was. 

As for Benny...Ray hadn’t wanted to blame Fraser, not simply for being stubborn about seeing justice done, but as the days went by after Irene’s death, it became harder not to remember Fraser’s part in the whole mess. Without any of the three of them, Irene wouldn’t have died...

He was going to drive himself insane. Ray swallowed the tears that threatened to fill his throat and hurried on to God-knew-where. 

*****

Twilight was almost gone before he finally ran out of strength. There were too many people and questions at home, and so he’d unconsciously veered away from his neighborhood and walked on until he could go no longer. The park he’d ended up at wasn’t in a good section of town--Benny’s neighborhood, Ray thought with a sick laugh--but he didn’t care. He really didn’t care about any of it anymore. 

Ray sank down on a park bench without even the energy to sigh. He felt miserable, sick and freezing cold, and yet inside it hurt so much more badly. And all of that seemed inconsequential to the fact that Irene would feel nothing ever again. 

Oh, God, it was too much to bear.

“Ray?”

And yet he could feel worse. The voice, unusually timid, that spoke up behind him had the power to hurt him even when he thought he could sink no further. “Go away, Fraser,” he muttered without turning. 

“I’m sorry, Ray, I can’t.” The voice approached, rounding the bench, but he refused to turn and look. Ray realized he was sitting with his arms clenched around himself and loosened his hold, trying not to look as desperately lost as he felt. Not in front of this man. 

“How’d you find me?” he gritted out, then laughed, the sound unpleasant to his own ears. “Oh, yeah, you’re a Mountie. How stupid of me.” A quick glance, trying to avoid the Canadian’s eyes. “Well, you’ve found your man, so leave me alone now.” 

Ray was torn in two. He wanted to scream at Fraser, to make the man feel as badly as he did, if that were possible. To fling in his face the damning conclusions Ray had reached over the past week. And at the same time to lean on Benny, to let his best friend help carry the burden just a little bit because Ray knew he’d reached the end of his line. 

But he couldn’t. Not now that he’d seen the truth. 

“I won’t go, Ray,” came the soft but firm answer from next to him. 

This time he did turn, anger giving him artificial courage. “What do you want from me?!”

“Nothing. I’d just like to help.” 

The kindness hurt like no anger or cruelty, nothing else could have. As if Fraser had a mean bone in his body. No, he was perfect, to everyone alike, “best friend” or worst enemy. No doubt he would have offered the same aid to anyone he saw sitting so forlornly in the park. 

Ray’s resolve stiffened, fortified by his anger. Temporary scabs over gaping, open wounds. 

“Go away, Benny,” he spat, vision too blurry to see anything but a blotch of red. “I don’t want your help.” 

“I know. But I can’t leave.” The response was quiet, but Ray was not too lost in his own grief to hear the pain in the words. He didn’t want to know. Whatever was bothering Benny, Ray didn’t want to know. He could no longer bear the weight of his own pain, let alone the other’s. 

“Then I’ll go.” It was as simple as that. Or not, as he stood too suddenly and the scene around him didn’t shift fast enough to keep up with him, dipping dizzily. Ray reached an arm out to the bench for balance, and found Benny’s hand instead. 

“You’re exhausted and cold, Ray. My apartment is close by--please, come home with me.” 

“No,” he choked. Oh, God, he was tired. Sick and tired. 

But Benny had always been a sucker for strays. Fraser’s arm was already across his back, leading him along, and Ray didn’t have the energy to argue or resist. Truth be told, deep down he didn’t even want to. 

And so, silently cursing his weakness and Fraser, he went. 

*****

The apartment really was close, though it didn’t feel like it. With every step, Ray felt more and more curiously detached from the walk, lightheaded and disconnected. Fraser was doing all the work, guiding him along, opening doors, leading him up steps, and Ray simply followed, putting one foot in front of another in rote obedience. Well, not obedience, just lack of resistance. Didn’t really matter anymore what happened, right? 

Then they were at Benny’s door, which the cop in him noted disapprovingly was unlocked as it always was. It was a wonder someone hadn’t broken in yet. Of course, in that sparse room, what was there to steal? Besides, no one would break into the honorable Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP’s room. They wouldn’t dare cross the neighborhood saint. The thought should have been funny, but it only felt sad, empty. 

Benny was talking to him as he sat Ray on the edge of his cot and lifted off the red uniform jacket--where had that come from?--that Ray was huddled in. But the detective was having trouble focusing on what the Mountie was saying and soon gave up trying. When Fraser began to pull Ray’s coat off next, he finally resisted the undressing, clenching his jacket more tightly around him. He was cold enough already. 

Fraser, however, was insistent, carefully wrestling the coat off his shivering body, followed by his shirt. This was crazy, but Ray couldn’t seem to find his earlier outrage to fight it. His slacks were next, and he just blinked in confusion at the Mountie gently manhandled him out of his chilled-through clothing. Fraser was still talking, his voice rising and falling in soothing cadence, but Ray had no clue what he was saying. His head felt full of cotton--why was that? It should have bothered him more than it did. 

And then Benny was pushing him flat on the cot, pulling up a mound of blankets over him. Sleep--he wanted Ray to sleep. Vecchio made a face; he wasn’t some baby to be put to bed. Besides, he could have told Fraser that sleep had been elusive of late, almost non-existent, and when it came it brought dreams of Irene that were more painful than pleasant. He didn’t want to sleep. 

But the warmth was heavenly, immediately fogging over his mind, and the protest died unspoken. Fraser’s hand rested on the top of his head like a benison, and Ray found himself unwillingly relaxing under that touch, too. The Canadian’s soft words made him forget what he was trying to remember, his reasons for not wanting to be here and do this. Maybe Ben wasn’t his friend anymore, but Ray’s heart was too starved to reject the kindness. And he was so tired...

*****

He was so cold. Cold and hot. He wanted to push off the heavy warmth that pressed him down at the same time he curled underneath it, shivering. The tremors, in turn, made his head hurt. _God, just let me die,_ he begged silently in only half-jest.

The splash of water caught his uncertain attention, and he turned toward it, something familiar in the sound, a memory. A cloth, cool and wet, brushed his neck and cheeks, bringing with it relief from the heat and discomfort. There were more liquid sounds, and the cold returned to settle on his forehead, dimming his headache. He swallowed thickly at the thought of the cold water, and in answer, a hand gently lifted his head and a chilled glass was put to his lips. Not water, something fruity with a hint of bitterness--he didn’t care. It felt wonderful going down, cooling him on the inside, too. 

“Ma?” he said hoarsely, finally putting a name to the memory. It was as if he were a child again, and he couldn’t bring himself to mind. The way he felt, being coddled like a kid was about all he could handle. 

“Shh, Ray, rest. Everything’s fine.” 

A masculine voice, not his mother. He couldn’t think clearly enough to put a name with it, but he did know it. It didn’t lie, which meant there was nothing to worry about.

And yet...something was wrong...out there somewhere, but it seemed distant, inconsequential. Maybe later he could figure it out. Right now he just couldn’t think. 

The cloth traced its path again over his face, down his upper chest, back up to his forehead, and then the warm layers were pulled around him, soft blankets tucked under his chin. He wriggled into them with a weary, relieved sigh, and dozed to the sound of that voice he trusted. 

*****

It wasn’t so cold anymore, at least until the warmth was stripped from him and he was hauled to his feet. He groaned in protest but went along anyway, stumbling into another room to take care of what he needed to while something propped him up on one side. That took about all the energy he had right there. 

Back to being blessedly horizontal, comfortable, warm. The wet cloth returned, this time covering his closed eyes as well as his forehead, and he was given something to drink again. Suspicions surfaced briefly, details he knew he should be concerned about, and yet he couldn’t seem to summon the interest. He felt like week-old laundry, wrinkled and dirty and used. 

“Go back to sleep, Ray,” someone quietly admonished, the same voice as before. Fraser? The name popped up without summons. 

No, couldn’t be Fraser. “Nice to ev’rybody,” Ray murmured sleepily. “Doesn’ mean we’re friends...”

A pause, then the voice spoke again, even more softly. “You _are_ my friend, Ray, my best friend, regardless. Don’t talk now--go to sleep.”

 _Best friend--_ did he have a best friend? He couldn’t remember, but the words sounded nice, made him feel good. He nestled his face deeper into the soft pillow, feeling the shift of the fingers that rested on his forehead, pressing the wet cloth down. And, content, he obeyed the command and drifted off once more. 

*****

The rich, delicious aroma in the air pulled him not unwillingly even from his deep sleep, and Ray just lay for a moment and took it in. It reminded him...reminded him...

He wasn’t in his own home, nor was that his mother cooking. With a crash of returning memories and broken dreams, recent events returned. And recognition of the bare plaster wall he faced. He was, for God knew what reason, at Fraser’s. 

“Dinner’s almost ready,” came the Mountie’s voice from somewhere behind him, although Ray had neither opened his eyes nor given any signs of waking. But Benny always seemed to know things like that.

Ray uncurled slowly, reluctantly turning from the wall to look at the rest of the small apartment, not really wanting to face Fraser but knowing no other way out. His movements felt oddly sluggish, difficult. Tiring. Ray frowned in growing confusion and dread. 

Benny stood on the opposite side of the room in the small kitchen nook, an apron over his checkered shirt and jeans, a pot in his hand. He didn’t look up at Ray, intent on his cooking, or perhaps giving the detective his space. Giving Vecchio the opportunity to stare at him, trying to put the pieces together. 

What _was_ he doing there? Sleeping in Fraser’s bed in--he quickly checked--only his underwear, while Benny cooked dinner? Racking his memories only produced vague recollections of a talk in the park, after which everything grew a little uncertain. Hot and cold. Water. Fevered dreams. None of it made sense, yet he felt humiliated, exposed. 

Ray pulled his tattered dignity around him and turned over on his side, moving to push himself up, only to fall back with a surprised gasp as his arms, weak as water, refused to hold him.

Benny was at his side in an instant, offering a hand, but Ray refused the help. He remembered enough. Vecchio would be damned before he’d let Fraser worm his way close again, and he callously ignored the flash of hurt in the blue eyes. Well, what of it? Ray had felt more than his share of that already.

He tried to rise again by himself, slower this time, and managed to get half-upright. That was a start. Vecchio blinked up at the still-hovering Canadian. “How’d I get here?” he rasped.

Fraser straightened. “Ah, yes. Well. You were in the park and seemed to need some assistance. I brought you here and you’ve been rather ill for the last two days.”

Ray blinked at him. “Two _days?_ I’ve been here for _two days?_ Geez, Ma’s gonna be worried sick.” He glanced around distractedly. “I’ve gotta find a phone.” Which, of course, Fraser didn’t have. Preoccupied with the thought, he tried to rise again, and sank back once more with a groan. 

Fraser was eyeing him in that stoic, considering way. “Fevers are notorious for draining strength, Ray. I did take the liberty of calling your mother from next door and telling her you were staying here for a few days. You really need to rest a while longer and regain your strength before you venture out again. I’ve fixed some dinner--”

“I don’t want to ‘rest and regain my strength’,” Ray said through clenched teeth. “I want to get out of here.”

The Mountie hesitated, studying him again, this time with an expression that made Ray look uncomfortably away. Then, quietly, “Understood. If I’ve offended you so much, perhaps that would be better. I’m certain Francesca would be happy to come pick you up.” 

Ray had no intention of letting Frannie anywhere near him, and he wondered idly for a moment where the Riv was, anyway, but the thought didn’t last long. _If I’ve offended you so much..._ Fraser’s response gnawed at him. Had he really been there two days in the Mountie’s care? After Benny had tracked him down to the park? Of course, that was probably no less than Fraser would have done for a murderer in his custody, if necessary. Ray’s face hardened. 

But still...

“What did you cook?” he asked abruptly.

This time Fraser blinked, taken off guard. “Ah. I tried my hand at something that would be familiar to you and therefore, perhaps, more enticing. Mrs. Garcia down the hall only had two Italian recipes in her cookbook and one was for spaghetti, which I’ve never seemed to have much success in making, so I thought I’d attempt the other one. Of course, pasta is not usually--”

“Fraser,” Ray cut in impatiently, already tired from the short conversation and the effort of being vertical. “What did you make?” he repeated.

“Fettucini. I think.”

Ray sniffed the air. That certainly smelled right, and suddenly he was fairly hungry. “That sounds good,” he offered, not knowing whether to be happy or mad when he saw Benny grin at the wary praise. 

He was only a little bit disgusted when Fraser had to help him prop himself up against a pile of pillows at the head of the cot. Both of them knew he didn’t have the strength to eat a whole meal at the table no matter how much Ray wanted to deny it. As weak and tired as he felt, he could well believe that he’d spent two days sick out of his head. 

Fraser hurried back to the kitchen to fix him a plate, and Ray frowned after him. Cold compresses? Trips to the bathroom? He could remember some of it, and Fraser’s behavior still confused him. Vecchio wouldn’t have expected the Mountie to leave his worst enemy out in the cold park like that, but alerting his family would have been enough to help Ray out, or just sticking him in bed and leaving him there to work through the chills himself. Fraser didn’t have to go through all that trouble, even giving up his own bed--Ray glanced around abruptly, noting with a guilty start the bedroll Diefenbaker was dozing on, on the floor beside the cot. Did this fall under the call of duty, too?

Then Benny was there, a tray of steaming food in his hands, settling it with assurance in Ray’s lap. Before Ray could even say anything, the Canadian headed back to the kitchen, retrieving his own plate of noodles. Then he sat down on the floor by the cot, looking as natural there as Ray felt in a chair, and began to eat. Diefenbaker sidled closer but his begging whine only elicited a hushed “No, Dief,” from the Mountie. 

Ray gave a mental shrug. Yeah, well, whatever. They could work things out later, maybe, after dinner. His Ma had taught him it was a sin to let good food cool and congeal if it could be helped. 

The creamy noodles were almost too rich for his malnourished system, but they also tasted terrific and Vecchio discovered he was hungrier than he thought. Even near the end, where he was fighting fatigue simply to lift the fork and chew, he persevered until his plate was cleaned, noticing belatedly through heavy eyes that Benny had already finished and was watching him with that same unreadably stoic look. 

“It was good,” Ray said, suddenly feeling abashed. 

Fraser accepted the plate. “I’m glad to hear that.” 

“As good as anything Ma makes,” Ray grudgingly amended. 

“That _is_ high praise.” Benny rose in one motion to take both plates into the kitchen. 

Ray winced. He felt like there were a hundred things they weren’t saying and should be. But Irene lingered ever close to his thoughts, still too freshly painful to dwell on, and he shut down that line of thought. No, if Fraser had anything to say, fine, Ray would listen. But then he was out of there. He didn’t need a friend out of charity. 

He heard Fraser sigh next to him, as if reading his thoughts, but his eyes felt too heavy to look. He didn’t even remember closing them. The blanket was pulled up around him once more with careful hands, and he thought he heard a quiet, “Sleep well, Ray,” before he crashed again. 

*****

Ray wasn’t sure he had opened his eyes, everything was so black around him. But Irene, beautiful and alive in his dream, was no longer there beside him, and so he had to unwillingly be awake once more. 

The room was dark, even as his eyes grew accustomed to it, excepted for the moon- and city-light that filtered in through the window past the end of the cot. And there in front of it, sitting in a chair and silhouetted against the faint glow, was the bowed figure of Ben Fraser. 

Things came back quicker now, Ray’s head clearer than before. The pain of Irene’s loss. Guardino’s death. His anger at Fraser. 

But as he lay watching the unmoving Mountie, the anger no longer seemed so sharp or reasonable. All he had left was grief, the grief of the loss of a lover, and, in a different way, of his best friend. The same grief that he couldn’t help but see also weighed heavily on Benny’s shoulders, too. And despite his best intentions, Ray couldn’t help but feel the man’s loss. 

“I am sorry, Ray.” 

The words floated to him without any apparent movement on the Canadian’s part, once again making Vecchio fleetingly wonder how Fraser even knew he was awake. But then the sobriety of the words sank in. 

“Sorry for what?” he found himself asking before he meant to. 

There was such a long silence, he was both afraid Benny wouldn’t answer and vexed at himself for regretting that. Fraser didn’t turn when he finally spoke again, still hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, his gaze somewhere down on the alleyway below. “For not being much of a friend.”

Ray didn’t really want to talk about that. Guys didn’t talk about things like that. It hurt, yeah, but life went on...somehow...even when he felt stomped on and couldn’t care less what the next day brought.

But the darkness helped ease confession, and not having to see Benny’s face made his own words come easier. 

“I never said that.”

“You did,” Benny countered without anger or accusation. “When you were feverish. You said I was nice to everyone and that didn’t mean I was your friend.” 

Had he really said that? Ray thought about it honestly and admitted it was possible. He’d certainly thought it enough. Even a token denial seemed useless. “Yeah, well--”

“It’s true. You have repeatedly gone out of your way to help me regardless of your personal wishes or feelings, while I...” Even in the dim light, Ray could see him chew consideringly on his lower lip. “...I’ve been raised to believe in helping anyone, friend or no, if it is at all in my power to do so. Unless, of course, duty intervenes, which I usually put above all else, even friendship.” 

Ray’s mind bitterly provided several examples. He’d always been the one to compromise, and what did he get in return? But he stayed silent, listening. 

Fraser’s eyes were still glued to the window, his words measuring and sincere even as Vecchio could see him grappling with his thoughts. “In Tuktoyaktuk, I had several friends among the Inuit boys who lived there. We went fishing and hunting together and played games with--” he broke off with an amused shake of the head. “It doesn’t matter. But among all those childhood companions, I never had a true friend, not even Innusiq.” 

He paused, and Ray held his breath, embarrassed and enthralled at once, his chest compressed under the weight of his own thoughts. And still he felt a twinge of pity for the isolated figure sitting in front of the window. Maybe they’d both been so quick to call the other friend because neither of them had ever had anyone else. 

Fraser went on, heedless of Ray’s thoughts, seeing something other than the cluttered alley outside the window. “My grandmother was a self-sufficient woman who taught me to treat all people as equal. But she also believed friendship was a weakness.” Another pause. “I’ve found her to be wrong about few things, but that is one of them.” 

Ray had nothing to say to that, no wisecrack to make for once, and no voice to make it with. His friend’s misery together with his own was too much to stand. And yet he was afraid to stop Benny, for they’d gone through too much to get to this point for him to blow it. 

Fraser turned to him then, the glimmer of the whites of his eyes the only thing Ray could make out in the dark room until the Mountie gave him a sad half-smile. “Everything I learned about friendship came from you, Ray. I...regret I haven’t made it clearer, but what you think and how you feel and what your opinion is of me has come to mean a great deal to me.”

Ray turned away from that damnably steady gaze, curling onto his side on the cot. He had known all this, really, deep down. He wasn’t a sucker, to give so much to someone who gave back nothing in return, and had always found his reward in concerned queries about how he was doing, small kindness the Mountie did him for no reason at all, the affectionate light that shone in the blue eyes when they teased each other. Even for someone like Benny for whom friendship was duty, in little ways he often set Ray apart from the rest.

But then Fraser had pursued his duty despite everyone’s warnings, even Vecchio’s, and Irene had died. Ray squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the feel of her in his arms, her life bleeding away. He didn’t blame Fraser for pursuing justice, nor, truly, for her death. But the fact remained that he hadn’t cared what Ray had said, intent on his duty to the exclusion of all else. Ray swallowed hard, trying not to remember. 

Maybe Benny saw, or maybe he just knew. His voice became even softer, grieved. “But most of all, I’m sorry about Irene. I would have gladly taken her place...” 

Ray drew in a ragged breath. He couldn’t do this. Not now; he didn’t have the strength. Not ever if he could help it. But _would_ have losing Fraser been any easier? “Don’t say that,” he ground out. Control was becoming tenuous at best, and he didn’t want to lose it here, with an audience. 

A hand touched his leg for a moment, Benny’s only response, but the sheer sympathy and concern in it was finally too much for him to deal with. Grief broke out, took over. The bedding at least muffled his sobs and soaked up his tears. 

He didn’t realize Benny had moved until the cot creaked and bent in the middle. And then his shoulder was gently gripped, not hesitantly like before but solidly, promising he wasn’t alone. 

Wasn’t alone. Through all the wild goose chases they went on, he hadn’t been alone since Fraser had first come into his life. That was the promise of friendship. 

They stayed there for a long time, Benny not rushing him in his grieving, not even when the tears were gone and he was just sniffling into the wet pillow.

Ray was so embarrassed. As naked and weak as a bawling baby, right after spending several days being nursed through some stupid bug. Some tough guy he was. The Inuit probably never cried, just went out and killed a walrus or something. 

But Benny’s touch remained steady, no condemnation there. In fact, it reminded Ray some of his own reactions to his struggling friend after Victoria, when they’d finally began to talk, and Benny to mourn. Ray had thought no less of him then, either, only relieved that Fraser was finally letting it out, and him in. And then there had been Benny’s gentle care over the last few days, certainly not required but carried out without hesitation or disdain. That was friendship, as if Ray had needed any proof. 

He’d not lost everything after all. 

“Thanks, Benny,” he whispered, and felt his shoulder squeezed in return. 

Fraser was still at his side as he went to sleep, this time willingly and at peace. 

The End


End file.
